Imagine That!
by spin84
Summary: It's the summer at the start of The Goblet of Fire and Harry is having nightmares again.


**A/N:** So a few years ago my stories were deleted. After a particularly nasty virus recently (which I'm still slowly getting over) I've come back to FF and have caught this bug again too! :) Very few of the stories from then survived the purge, but today I found this one which was originally written as a quick one shot for _EmPoweredBeing_ back in 2012 I think.

 **Disclaimer:** All ideas are based on the world JKR created for us. This particular one is centred on the second chapter ('The Scar') of Goblet of Fire, and one line is lifted directly from that.

 **Imagine That!**

Harry's scar prickled as he woke with a start. It had seemed so real, but now the dream was running away from him as his conscious mind took control. Something about a… a snake… and then there had been that cold, cruel voice…

Voldemort.

Still breathing heavily, Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position and ran his hands over his face in an attempt to remember everything he had seen. As various images came back to him punctuated by flashes of green light, he opened his eyes wide, reassuring himself that it wasn't really happening here in his bedroom at Privet Drive. Searching the shadows frantically he found nothing, and gradually his pounding heart calmed enough to allow him to lie back down on the bed.

The cool pillow was like a balm to his perspiring forehead, enabling him to think clearly for the first time since waking. What should he do? Surely it was pointless to inform anybody, for it couldn't have been real… could it? And besides, who would he tell? Certainly not his godfather; so recently escaped from the country, he couldn't risk him coming back on a whim for a thirteen year old boy who should know better than to worry over a simple nightmare.

His heart rate spiked again nevertheless as he had another flashback, this time of a body crumpling to the ground at his feet. It _had_ to have been more than a nightmare, surely. The silence surrounding him was deafening, closing in on him from every side. It was no good, he had to do something. This inactivity was driving him to distraction.

Pulling on his glasses and sweeping back his sweaty hair he sat at his desk, finding a scrap of parchment and a quill and began to jot down all the details he could recall. It was all well and good for him to remember the dream, but just what was he going to do with the information? He absently rubbed at his scar as he wrote. It still tingled and he couldn't shake the idea that it was a warning, a pre-cursor to something big.

It was no good, he knew he had to tell someone if only to alleviate his own fears. He eyed Hedwig's empty cage. Whoever he decided to bother with this would have to wait until the morning anyway, or until Hedwig returned from hunting at the very least. Hermione or Ron would be the obvious recipients, however he doubted either of them would be very much help. No, he needed a parent-type figure. Someone who could reassure and explain just what it was he had seen.

Immediately an image of the Headmaster popped into his mind. Surely Dumbledore would have all the answers? Admittedly he didn't have a clue as to what to say to him, but it was the middle of the night and he was feeling desperate. Besides, he had always shown an interest in Harry before now and was willing to listen to him during his previous three years at Hogwarts, no matter how ludicrous his latest exploits had been. That settled, he began to draft a letter.

After screwing up his third attempt and missing the wastepaper basket with an ill-placed throw, Harry lowered his head to the desk top and groaned. Everything he wrote sounded stupid, especially when he imagined Dumbledore reading it. The poor man was probably on his summer holidays somewhere and wouldn't appreciate a note saying:

 _Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

 _Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning._

 _Yours sincerely, Harry Potter_

Looking up he glanced out of the window into the peaceful night sky before yawning and returning his head to a pillow of parchment. Hedwig still wasn't back yet, which thinking about it was probably a good thing. It gave him time to consider his options rather than sending ridiculous letters halfway around the world to extremely busy and important wizards on an impulse. He snorted, imagining Dumbledore somewhere hot, stretched out on a beach in his star spangled robes and his long silver beard thrown over a shoulder…

 _The Headmaster appeared to be asleep, with his half-moon spectacles dangling precariously at the end of his crooked nose and the sun glinting off them. Harry read the title of the book that was lying open on his chest. He seemed to be halfway through a well-thumbed edition of '_ Flying with the Cannons' _; the players in the picture were shielding their eyes from the dazzling light which suggested they had been left in the same position for a little while. His gaze flickered up to his face again to see the tell-tale peeling nose, shining bright like a beacon._

 _Harry could feel the sun beating down on his back and turned to watch the waves lapping against the shore. Well wherever Dumbledore was, it was a beautiful spot. The secluded beach was surrounded on either side by high, rocky cliffs and Harry was hard pressed to remember what he had been so frightened of until he heard the soft padding of footsteps in the sand behind him. For one crazy moment he thought it was Voldemort, here to do in the only wizard he had ever feared and The Boy Who Lived in one fell swoop._

 _Whirling around to face their would-be attacker, Harry stumbled to a halt when he saw who was crossing the beach. It wasn't the Dark Lord, but a sight almost as surprising. Professor McGonagall, in bathing suit and sarong, was approaching holding what appeared to be two coconuts with straws coming out the top. Taking a sip from one she placed the other in the sand and sighed. She stood right beside Dumbledore's head and frowning, pulled her wand from – well Harry didn't like to think exactly where it had appeared from. He watched on amazed as a fine spray of water sprinkled over the Headmaster's face and he shot up spluttering, knocking the book from his lap._

 _"_ _Minerva! What on earth was that for?"_

 _She lifted her wand away and handed him his drink._

 _"_ _When will you ever learn Albus? You simply do not have the complexion to sit in the sun for hours on end, particularly when you fail to apply suntan lotion to that nose of yours."_

 _He pouted briefly but Harry could still see his eyes twinkling merrily as he replied._

 _"_ _But my dear, there was no one here TO apply it."_

 _"_ _Nonsense. You have hands don't you? And it's not exactly hard to reach, unlike my back which if I remember correctly a certain wizard promised to see to this morning."_

 _"_ _Oh yes, I recall that conversation perfectly…"_

 _Standing stock-still from the shock, Harry proceeded to watch as the Headmaster rolled up his sleeves and fulfilled his duty to the witch who now lay flat out on the sand, arms crossed under her head. It sounded as if she was purring, but that couldn't be right. Without warning Dumbledore swooped down and lifted the Transfiguration teacher into his arms, and she began to laugh and scream while swatting at his shoulder and any other piece of him she could reach. He staggered to the sea, as Harry toppled backwards in an effort to avoid their flailing limbs, forgetting that he couldn't be seen._

 _Without conscious thought Harry was beside them again and saw the Head of Gryffindor being dumped unceremoniously in the water. With a high-pitched scream and a spectacular piece of wandless magic, the Headmaster was Summoned to the side of the witch in the ocean. His robes floated all around the pair as they leant in for a kiss…_

Harry jolted so violently in his seat he got a crick in his neck. He hadn't really just witnessed what he thought he had… _had he?_ Intruding on such a private moment between _Dumbledore and McGonagall_? No, that just wasn't possible. And after that earlier vision of Voldemort too? Perhaps he had eaten something funny for dinner because two horrific nightmares in a row was simply not conceivable. Blinking hurriedly in an attempt to remove the sight that seemed to be burnt on his retinas, Harry peeled away the beginnings of another letter that had stuck to the side of his face as he dozed. Maybe he wouldn't burden Dumbledore with his dreams just yet. In fact it was probably wise to never mention them to another living human being. Ever.

No, he needed to learn to relax more. His imagination was simply running away from him.


End file.
